A Way with Words
by Regina the Queen of Random
Summary: If Amara does not wish to fail English, then she has to take a creative writing course. But things don't go according to plan when she discovers that she is not the only fiery personality there. . .
1. Fire in the Eyes

**Regina, the Queen of Random:** I've done it again, brought to you another Amyro fic. This'll be my third one, not including other stories that I have made Amyro references in. The other two Amyro fics, for those of you who do not know, are Trial by Fire (completed) and In the Dreaming. I hope I can do justice to them, by writing another Amyro fic which you all enjoy. 

I'd just like to bring to peoples attention that, if they find something in here that they don't like (and would report) please let me know what it is, and I will be happy to change it, if it is a violation of terms of service, as I have probably done it (if I have - please no) unintentionally. Thank you.

****

**A Way With Words  
**  
_Chapter One: Fire in the Eyes  
_  
Amara took a deep breath. Why was she doing this? Because she did not want to fail English, that was why.

Professor Xavier had offered her a choice: either fail English, and repeat the year, or take a creative writing course, and pass.

Amara had chosen the latter. Although now she was starting to regret her decision.

She had not known that the majority of people taking the course were adults. There was a woman in her late twenties; a man in his late forties, starting to go bald and dressed for a day at the bank; a woman in her later years, hair white as snow and with a grandmotherly air. The room was full of people like this - all of them much older than her.

There was only one person close to her age, and even he was about two years older than Amara.

He sat alone at a table in the corner of the room, ignoring everything that was going on around him. His red hair fell forward into his eyes as he bent over an open notebook, his pen moving furiously over the paper as he wrote.

Not wanting to sit either with the older people, or all by herself, Amara walked over to the boy's table.

"May I sit here?"

The boy made no sign of having heard her.

Annoyed, Amara pulled out the chair next to the boy, and sat down. She tried again. "I'm Amara. Are you failing English, too?"

The boy spoke this time, but still did not look up. "No. I like words."

Now Amara was confused. "Okay." She was trying to think of a clever response when she felt a touch on her shoulder.

It was the old woman. "Don't worry about John, dear. He's always been anti- social."

"Who are you?" asked Amara.

The old woman smiled. "I'm Dot, dear. Why don't you come and sit with me?"

Amara hesitated, and looked at John. He still had not looked up. Then she looked at Dot, who was smiling at her. Amara got up, and followed Dot to her table.

Amara fiddled with her pen as the teacher walked into the room.

"Good evening, class," she said, adjusting her glasses. "John? Are you listening?" John did not look up. "John - oh, never mind." The teacher sighed.

"If he doesn't listen," Amara whispered to Dot, "why does she let him stay?"

"Because he's such a good writer, dear," replied Dot. "He's the best in the class."

"He is?" Amara looked at John, disbelieving. John was busy scratching his nose. Amara turning back to Dot. "No way!"

"Yes way, Amara, dear," replied Dot. "Just wait, and you'll see."

"All right," Amara said warily.

"So," began the teacher. "We have a new student in the class, Amara Aquilla, so I hope you all make her feel welcome. That includes you, John. John? Oh, why do I even bother?" The teacher shook her head, frustrated. "All right, class, today's assignment is, for the next fifteen minutes, write about the place in which you feel safest. Ready, go!"

Amara's pen hovered above her paper, unsure of what to write. She looked around. Dot's elegant handwriting was filling up her paper. John's pen was a blur as it wrote across his notebook, although Amara did not think he was following the teacher's instructions. Amara tried to think about what to write. A place she felt safe. The mansion was the obvious choice, with its automated defenses, not to mention the powerful mutants behind its walls. But a part of Amara was hesitant to write about it.

Her home, perhaps? No, Amara decided. Although she did feel safe there, it was not where she felt safest.

A thought struck her. Dare she?

Smiling to herself, she put pen to paper and began to write. Strong, confident strokes covered the page as she recalled memories of herself lying on the ground, feeling the hum of the earth beneath her. She did not pause to think as she wrote about the heat and power of a volcano, and its siren song, the way it called to her, beckoning her to control it, to become it. She wrote about how safe she felt when she was on her own, holding the miracle of fire in her hands.

Amara was so lost in her writing that she did not hear the teacher ring a small bell, signaling the end of the fifteen minutes. Amara looked up only when Dot placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Finished?" she asked, the corners of her eyes crinkled in a smile.

Amara looked down at her paper. She blinked with surprise. She had finished. That had never happened before!

"All right, class, we need a few volunteers to read their compositions aloud. Poppy?"

The woman in her twenties stood up. She read about how she felt safest when she was with her two German shepards.

Dot had written about how she felt safe and at peace when she was in her flower garden, gardening with her granddaughter.

"Amara?" asked the teacher once Dot had gone. "Would you like to go?"

Amara swallowed nervously, but stood up. Her paper shook as she began to read, but once the first word came out of her mouth the fear was gone. She was back in the safe place that she had written about, away from the dark and cold, surrounded by light and warmth.

She did not see the smiles of those around her, Dot's eyes bright and shining. She knew only of the words that she had written, the words that had come from her heart, the same heart which burned with the fire she was speaking of. She was in the safe place, which was herself, in its purest form.

She was an extension of the earth, and whenever she thought about it, whenever she became a part of it, she felt strong and powerful. That feeling was conveyed through her writing to the people sitting in front of her, people who before could not even have imagined the beauty of Amara's world, and now, thanks to her, they had been offered a glimpse of that world, and they too knew of its beauty, power and mystery.

It was over all too soon. Amara fumbled as soon as she had spoken the last word.

The spell was broken. The magic was gone.

Amara looked up at the teacher, questioning. Had she done all right?

The teacher stared at Amara for a moment, and then began to clap. The other members of the class did the same thing, Dot being the loudest.

"Well, it seems we have just unlocked some hidden talent," said the teacher. "You had better watch out John. You've got some competition here, I think."

Amara looked at John, and almost reeled back with shock. His head was up, and he was watching her with an intense, almost hawk-like focus.

Amara swallowed again, and her paper began to shake. The way John was staring at her was unnerving.

Somehow she managed to make it back to her seat next to Dot.

The old lady smiled. "It seems you've struck a chord in young John over there. Probably because you said the F word."

"F word?" asked Amara, confused, pretty sure that Dot was not talking about what Amara was thinking about.

"Fire, dear," replied Dot. "You mentioned it in your writing, and he immediately looked up. He didn't take his eyes off you at all while you were talking."

"He didn't?"

Amara looked over her shoulder, back at where John was sitting. He was still watching her, a look of fascination on his face, as if he was only seeing her for the first time.

He did not take his eyes off her for the rest of the lesson, and whenever Amara saw him watching her, she could have sworn that there was fire burning in his eyes.


	2. Two of a Kind

**Regina:** Well, I have had a bit of trouble with the next bit of A Way With Words, but it is here. I hate it when something like that happens. You get off to a great start, and then the second chapter you have no idea what to do. Luckily, I managed to beat the terrible writer's block, and give you this.  
  
And as always, I own nothing mentioned in this chapter. Not even CSI.  
  
**A Way With Words  
**  
_Chapter Two: Two of a Kind  
_  
"So, Amara, how was it?"  
  
Amara looked up from her food. "Huh? How was what?"  
  
"I think Scott was asking about your writing class," Jean explained. "How was it?"  
  
"Not what I expected," Amara said truthfully.  
  
"Any good writers there?" asked Kitty.  
  
Again Amara was truthful. "A few. Nothing outstanding, I guess."  
  
"How did you do?"  
  
Amara shrugged her shoulders. "Okay. I think I'm gonna pass."  
  
"That's good," said Scott. "Pass the potatoes." The potatoes floated down the table towards him. "Did you have fun?"  
  
Amara smiled. "Yes." It was not a lie. She had had fun - at least, until she saw the way John was looking at her. By the time the session was over, she couldn't wait to leave.  
  
"You going back next week?"  
  
Amara nodded. "I have to, don't I?" She tried to look happy about it, but on the inside, she was dreading it already.  
  
"That's good. Hey, did anyone see CSI last night? That was so cool how they. . ."  
  
Glad that the conversation had been steered away from her, Amara mentally drowned out what everyone else was saying. She wanted to concentrate on two things: her dinner, and what to do about John.  
  
X X X  
  
By the time the next creative writing session rolled around, Amara had all but forgotten John and his strange behaviour.  
  
She arrived there early this time. Only Poppy, the woman with the German shepherds, was there. Not disconcerted, Amara took the seat she had last time, the seat next to where she assumed Dot always sat. Prepared this time, Amara took out the book she had bought especially for this at the weekend, and a pen.  
  
She was busy going over the lines of her name - she had written it in an elegant font copied from a calligraphy book she had borrowed off someone - when she felt a presence behind her. She knew instantly that it was not Dot, and her heart sank.  
  
"You're back," said a voice.  
  
"Look, John," replied Amara, spinning around in her chair to face him. "I'm only here because I have to be, and I would rather just get this over and done with. Then I'll be gone, and everything will be back the way it was."  
  
Amara could not read whatever emotion it was that was on John's face. "Whatever. I was just gonna say hello."  
  
Amara blinked. She had not expected that. "Oh. Okay, then," she said, her voice flat. "Hi, John."  
  
"Hi, Amara." John continued to look down at her, and with a start she realised that he had the same strange look in his eyes that he had had the last time she had seen him. The look that she could have sworn burned with a hidden flame.  
  
In an attempt to hide her own nervousness, Amara spun back around to face the front of the room. "Well, it was nice seeing you, John," she said, somehow managing to keep her voice level. "But class is gonna start soon. Perhaps you should go to your seat."  
  
Behind her, John shrugged his shoulders, and went to the seat that he had been in the previous session.  
  
And like the previous session, he did not take his eyes off of Amara. At all.  
  
X X X  
  
"Are you sure Harold and I can't give you a lift?"  
  
Amara shook her head, smiling. "No, thank you, Dot. A friend's coming to pick me up. He'll be here soon. But thank you for the offer."  
  
"No trouble, dear," replied Dot, sitting in the passenger seat of her husband's car. "But if you ever need a lift, you can always count on me."  
  
Amara's smile widened. "Thank you, Dot. And it was nice meeting you, Harold."  
  
"And it was nice meeting you," he replied. With that, he started up the car, and began to drive away.  
  
As soon as the car was out of sight, Amara said, to what appeared to be no one in particular, "Are you stalking me or something?"  
  
John stepped out from behind a tree a few metres away. "No."  
  
"Then why are you following me?" Amara demanded, turning to face him.  
  
John shrugged his shoulders. "You're. . . interesting."  
  
"Interesting?"  
  
His eyes focused intently on her face. "You're different from them."  
  
"'From them'?" asked Amara skeptically. "You mean the others in the class?"  
  
He nodded solemnly. "From everyone."  
  
Amara swallowed. This was getting to be a bit too close for comfort. If he knew her secret. . . "What do you mean 'different'? How do you know?"  
  
His gaze was hawk-like, intense. "I just know. The things you said the last time, they were different from everything else anyone has said. That's how I knew."  
  
"And what do you mean, 'different'?" Amara challenged.  
  
"You're like me. Different. Not like the others," John stated.  
  
"And how are you different?" Amara's voice had taken on a slightly higher pitch. Even if John didn't notice, Amara sure did.  
  
"The same way you are," he said, reaching into his pocket absently. "I just am. I have always been, even if I did not know it."  
  
"Uh huh," Amara said, trying to sound unaffected by what he was saying. "You're crazy, did you know that?"  
  
"Not crazy," John insisted, and a part of Amara noticed that his voice had a strange accent, unlike one she ever heard. He pulled out the object he had been holding onto in his pocket. It was a small silver lighter. Amara paid no attention to it. "Just different."  
  
"Uh, huh," repeated Amara. "Whatever you say."  
  
John held the lighter up in front of his face. "You spoke of the beauty of fire, of how it can both create and destroy. Do you want to know why it spoke to me?"  
  
Amara said nothing.  
  
"I'll show you." A flame appeared from the lighter, and John put his left hand above it. He seemed unaffected by the heat. "I think we're the same, you and I. We have an understanding. I think we're alike, and I am going to prove it."  
  
Amara gasped as a ball of flame erupted from the lighter, enveloping John's hand. But he appeared to feel no pain. In fact, he smiled as tendrils of fire snaked around his hand, until it formed a glove made entirely from fire. "Now do you see?" asked John, extending the hand towards Amara. "We are the same."  
  
"Stay away from me!" Amara recoiled with shock. She had not expected this.  
  
John withdrew the hand. "Fine, then. If you're not ready to accept this, then I can't force you. But I know a way to remind you." John looked at the tree he was standing next to. "Do you always wait here?" Amara managed to nod. "Perfect." With that, he pressed his flaming palm into the trunk of the tree. Smoke made its way out from under his fingers, as for about a minute he held his hand against the bark.  
  
Finally the fire vanished, leaving John's pale and unmarked hand pressed against the tree. After a moment's pause, John withdrew his hand, leaving a perfect handprint burned into the wood.  
  
John examined his work. "That should do." He turned to Amara. "Now every time you come here, you will remember." Once more he extended his hand, an open invitation for Amara to take it.  
  
She stared at it, but did not move. Both of them stood as still as statues.  
  
Until the beeping of a car horn broke the silence.  
  
Amara managed to smile. "Scott!" Noting the red sports car that was still a fair distance away, Amara looked back at John.  
  
"John?"  
  
He had vanished. 


	3. Fire of the Brightest Heaven

**Regina:** I've got something to say about this story. Relative to all of my others, it is the most popular of them all, with over 20 reviews for 2 chapters. So it seems you enjoy it, so keep reviewing, and make sure this gets to at least 30 reviews before I update. And here's another shameless plug: visit my two X-Men websites - my Amyro one (at ) and my X-Men movies X-Kids site (at )

Oh, and if you are wondering, all of the quotes in this chapter are real. They are the property of William Shakespeare, Theodore Roethke, and William Blake. I just thought that they would be wonderful additions to the story. And don't worry if capital letters show up part way through a sentence, as that is just where the next line begins in the play or poem. So, enjoy!

**A Way With Words**

_Chapter Three: Fire of the Brightest Heaven_

Amara was still looking around, confused, when the red sports car finally pulled up alongside her. But Scott was not in the driver's seat. Instead it was. . .

"Tabitha?"

The blonde bombshell grinned. "Hey, girl. I thought I'd pick you up."

Amara blinked, trying to figure out what was going on. "Scott leant you the car?"

Tabitha waved the comment off. "Not so much leant as I borrowed it without asking."

"You mean you stole it." 

"Stole, borrowed, same diff. You coming, or not, girl?" asked Tabitha, when Amara did not move.

"Coming, I guess," replied Amara, as she opened the car door and got into the seat next to Tabitha. "So why did you decide to pick me up?" she asked Tabitha, trying to distract herself from what had just happened with John.

"I thought you might want to go shopping with me," Tabitha replied, as the car began to drive off.

"That sounds like just what I need after-"

Tabitha cut her off. "Ooh, I love this song!" she almost shouted, and reached over to turn up the radio., and began bouncing around to the song.

"Never mind," Amara said quietly, watching her friend's antics.

The song eventually finished, and Tabitha said, "Sorry. What were you saying?"

"Nothing. I was just gonna ask where did you want to go shopping?"

"Who cares, so long as we're gonna have ourselves a little fun?!"

Amara couldn't help but smile at her friend. Tabitha could always make her smile.

And that was just what she needed right then.

"Hey, Amara. Is it just me or was that tree smoking? Don't tell me you got bored or something."

Amara said nothing.

X X X

Before Amara knew it, the time had come for her to go back to her writing class. She wished she did not have to go back, but a part of her secretly wished to have another encounter with John.

For some reason, he had been plaguing her thoughts even more than usual, and the night before he had entered her dreams for the first time.

Now it seemed that she was not even able to escape him when she was asleep. The thought of this caused a great battle inside of her, the two parts of her fighting to be heard.

It was just her luck that Scott had dropped her off right by the tree that John had left his mark on. Curious, Amara examined it closely for the first time.

The handprint was perfect, no errors in its making. John had not moved his hand even a fraction when he was making it. Amara slipped her hand into it, and found that his hand was larger than she had first thought. Her own hand found the plains of his one, and took them in until she thought she knew it as well as her own hand.

She closed her eyes, and was immediately transported back to the week before, to the very moment when John was burning the wood. But now Amara was the tree, feeling his power envelop her, leaving his mark on her skin, and leaving something even more amazing buried deep beneath her skin, waiting until the moment was right to surface.

She could feel him so strongly that it was almost as if he was standing right next to her.

Amara's eyes flew open at the prospect. She looked around quickly, and breathed a sigh of relief when she realised he was nowhere to be seen.

She removed her hand from the wood, and headed towards the class.

X X X

Although Amara had been steeling herself for the class, she was relieved - and secretly disappointed - that John had not been there at all. The class seemed very different without him there, and it made it difficult for her to write. For the first time the words had not been able to come to her as they had done before.

Amara hoped that this had nothing to with John's absence.

The class dragged on, until finally, it ended. Amara could not wait to get out of there. She needed time to think, and she hoped that Scott would not be his usual punctual self when he came to pick her up.

Hopefully Tabitha had 'borrowed' his car again. If she came to pick Amara up, she would have plenty of time to examine her thoughts.

"O! for a Muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention!" said a voice suddenly behind her.

Amara spun around, and found herself face to face with John. "Why won't you just leave me alone?!" she demanded from him.

John shrugged his shoulders, and looked kind of disappointed. "I thought you would like that I quoted something from Shakespeare," he said, sounding downcast. "Guess I was wrong."

Amara's jaw dropped. "Shakespeare?" She had completely misjudged him, if he read Shakespeare, and knew it well enough to quote from it.

"King Henry the Fifth," John replied, his mood picking up. "Surprised?"

"Very."

"Want another?" asked John, a strange smile on his face. "How about: 'One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessened by another's anguish.' That's from Romeo and Juliet."

Amara's voice caught in her throat, and she found she could not say anything. She was struck dumb by the smile on John's face.

"And here is the last one. This one's from Theodore Roethke's The Marrow, this time." His eyes caught Amara's, and she found herself trapped within them, burning in their flame. "'Pain wanders through my bones like a lost fire; What burns me now? Desire, desire, desire.'" The last word was almost a whisper, but Amara could hear him as clearly as if he had whispered it into her ear.

"I - I have to go," Amara stuttered, and started to run off.

"Amara!" John shouted behind her. "Wait! I'm sorry!" He took off after her.

Amara's heart pounded in her chest as she ran, hoping to put as much distance between her and John as possible. But a part of her hoped that he would catch her, as she was secretly thrilled by what he had said, even if they were the words of poets of long ago.

A hand caught hers - she was forced to stop and spin around. She found herself once again staring into John's fiery eyes.

"Amara," said John, breathing hard. "I'm sorry."

Amara managed to find her voice. "For what?"

It was his turn to blink with surprise. "For what I said."

"I liked what you said," Amara told him, surprising herself with this new boldness. She even took it a step further, and asked him, "Do you have any more? Quotes, I mean."

John was silent for a moment, then he smiled. He let go of her hand, and instead brushed it gently along her cheek, his eyes never breaking her stare. "The look of love alarms Because 'tis filled with fire; But the look of soft deceit Shall win the lover's hire."

"Well, you don't have to worry about it, John," Amara whispered, closing her eyes under John's touch. "Because you have already won."

John smiled, taking all of this in. "Good. Because do you know how long I've been trying to get your attention?" He laughed softly.

Amara laughed too. "You had a strange way of going about it, though."

"Love is a spirit all compact of fire," John whispered leaning in, "Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire." The very last word died on Amara's lips, smothered by their kiss.

And for that moment, it was as if they had indeed ascended to the brightest heaven of invention.


	4. Words That Burn

**Regina:** I'm alive! I'm alive! I'm alive! I am sorry to worry any of you (ha ha ha) but I am still alive! And look! I'm even over my writer's block!

Must be something to do with the purple hair... yes, I have purple hair. It was supposed to be blue, but at least it isn't green, I suppose. Not that I have anything against Polaris, of course.

But anyway, life has been busy, I've been working on an original novel, and I've been working on a few websites (including a Beast one – and have contemplated making an Amyro fanfiction fanlisting), and have been trying to get the groundwork for an X-Men Movieverse student-centric RPG going. Perhaps you could let me know (the review button is your friend!) so I can get an idea of numbers, if anyone wants to play.

But I shall no longer delay! Let the fourth chapter of A Way With Words begin!

**A Way With Words**

_Chapter Four: Words That Burn_

"Amara? Are you all right?"

"Huh? I'm fine. Why?"

"You just seem a little distracted, that's all," Jean said. "Scott said you were quiet all the way home, too."

Amara looked down at her dinner plate. Somehow she had managed to get home after her creative writing class, but everything that had happened that day seemed a blur.

Except for the kiss.

Amara swore that the others at the dinner table could see the blush rising up her neck, heading towards her face. She tried to ignore the sensation of her cheeks burning, but found she couldn't concentrate.

"She really enjoys her class," Ororo said, drawing attention away from Amara, even if it was only briefly. The other adults smiled, pleased for her. Even Logan was, and if Amara had not been in such a dream, she would have found that shocking.

Amara poked at the peas with her fork, not really noticing the way they rolled around her plate. Her mind was consumed by thoughts of him. The sound of his voice. The light brush of his fingers against her cheek. The exquisite heat and pressure of his lips against hers...

Oh, dear.

She really was blushing now.

"Amara?"

She dropped the fork; the sound it made when it hit the table rang around the large dining room.

Amara did not look up. "Sorry," she said quietly.

"Are you all right?" asked Bobby.

"I -" she began, but she fell silent when she felt Ororo's hand on her forehead.

"Just a mild fever," she told everyone. To Amara she added, "Go to bed. I'll clear up for you."

"But... I..." Amara sighed. "All right." She pushed her chair backwards, and nearly knocked it over. "Sorry," she whispered.

"Go to bed, Amara," Xavier told her gently.

"'Night," she said softly to the residents of the Institute. "See you in the morning."

X X X

Amara forced herself to obey the adults' wishes, and go to bed, but as she opened her dresser draw to get her pyjamas, she caught a glance of herself in the mirror. For all her good intentions, Amara paused, leaving the draw half open, and stared in the mirror, and at the girl staring back at her.

Was it her imagination, or did her eyes seem brighter? Was it a trick, or were her lips really that combination of pale brown and red, standing out against her skin? And had her skin always been that colour, soft and inviting to the touch?

Ignoring the draw and pyjamas for the moment, Amara stared at the reflection in the mirror.

It definitely was not her. At least, not as she knew herself.

After all, she did not have a faint flush to her cheeks, and a sparkle to her eyes. She did not have hair that shone under the artificial light, and skin that practically glowed.

Then who was this girl in the mirror?

She looked like Amara, but she was not her. She moved when Amara did, but she was not her.

So who was she?

With a start, Amara remembered the Kitty looked when she and Lance were having a good patch. She practically glowed with happiness and love.

Was the same thing happening to her?

Experimentally, she thought about John. It was not hard: her mind wanted to remember him. It was keeping him out of her thoughts that was the hard part.

She thought of his smile – the one, she knew instinctively, that he reserved only for her – and leapt back from the mirror in shock.

What was going on?

For a moment, Amara had been reminded of Jean.

For a moment, Amara could have sworn she looked... beautiful.

What had he done to her?

X X X

Amara was not the only one to notice what had happened. Everywhere she went – the Institute, school, the mall – people who knew her (and some who did not) commented it on it.

"You look nice today, Amara."

"That's just what every pretty girl needs."

"Did you get a new shirt? Oh, I know! Haircut!"

"Looking good, Aquilla!"

Even people at her writing class took notice, with Amara receiving even more compliments.

She was starting to enjoy the nice floaty feeling that came with everything that had happened.

But with the floaty feeling came a dark shadow. It was hovering just outside the door, making her tremble slightly. It would come in when John did... and she had no idea what would happen then.

Instead of dwelling on the negative possibilities, Amara concentrated on the short story she had started to write the night before. She did not know why she wanted to write all the time now, but she supposed it had something to do with the class. She had never liked writing before then, so it came as a surprise that she enjoyed it now.

Not that she was any good of course...

The sound of a chair being scraped along the floor caused her to look up.

"John..."

"Miss me?" the teen in question asked as he sat down beside her.

"I-"

"What are you working on?" he asked, noticing the notepad she had been scribbling on.

She automatically shielded her work. "It's nothing."

"What do you mean, 'it's nothing'? Let me have a look..." John reached for it, but Amara blocked it with her arm.

"No, leave it."

"Come on..."

And suddenly, he was there, trying to reach over her arm, his face right up in hers.

Amara searched his eyes, but could not find anything there. "Joh-"

His kiss kept her from finishing.

After a moment, he pulled away, triumph all over his face. "Gotcha!" he whispered.

Amara frowned. "What?"

Then she saw that he had her notepad in hands. "Give that back!" she demanded.

"No."

And then he turned so that his back was towards her, and started to read.

Started to read her private writing!

"Give that back, now, John!"

"I'm trying to read, here!"

"I said give that back!"

"Shh! I'm nearly finished!"

"John!"

"Done!" He turned back around, and handed it back to her. "I thought it was really good."

Amara nearly dropped it as she took the pad from his hands. "You – what?"

"I really liked it," John said. "There was just one thing wrong with it."

Amara's heart sank, but she had to know. "And that thing was?"

John looked serious for a moment, as if considering the best way to break the news to her.

Then his face split into a broad grin. "Something that good shouldn't be written on something like that." He gestured to the notepad. "You should have something nice to write in." He pulled something from his backpack, and placed it on the desk. "Something like this."

Amara's eyes widened. "For me?"

"No, for Dot." When Amara looked at him, confusion all over her face, John rolled his eyes. "Of course it's for you!"

"Oh."

It was a slender notebook, very simple, but with a dark red colour that reminded her of, well, fire.

Amara looked up at John, and smiled a sweet smile. "Thank you."

He smiled back. "You are very welcome."

Just then the teacher came in, "All right everyone, get ready," and Amara slipped the book into her own backpack.

Just knowing that it was John's knee against her own, and the book he had given her was in her bag, waiting to be used, made her day all the more brighter.

John's words made it burn.

"You look beautiful today."


End file.
